


no matter what.

by cherryade



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Tag, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29802030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryade/pseuds/cherryade
Summary: “You said you were friends from work the last time we met at the farmer’s market. Anyone with eyes can tell that you’re not just friends from work,” she says gently. She reaches out to still his fidgeting hands. “Carlos, we didn’t ask because we thought you weren’t ready.”(Carlos sprains his ankle and TK looks after him. They have unexpected visitors.)Post 2x04
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Comments: 14
Kudos: 328





	no matter what.

Carlos grimaces as he presses the ice pack against his ankle. He attempts to keep a steady pressure, but the throb in the joint makes him wish he called TK to pick him up instead of braving an Uber. The driver had been careful, but he’d still had to make the journey from the curb to his front door on his own. He groans as he leans back, rubbing at the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

The doorbell rings.

His head snaps up and he stares at the door, suddenly exhausted.

“Seriously?” he mutters to himself as he flops back on the couch. The usually short distance to the door seems impossible today and he squeezes the ice pack with frustration. He’s just thinking of letting whoever it is think he’s not home when there’s a knock on the glass.

“Hey babe, I know you’re in there,” TK says, voice muffled.

Carlos drops the ice pack on the coffee table, confused. TK has a key, has had it for months. He winces as he forces himself upright and drags the crutches to himself. Balancing carefully on one leg, he slowly makes his way towards the door and opens it.

TK’s left hand is raised in the air, as if to hammer on the door, and Carlos narrowly misses being socked in the face. It would make his already shitty day much worse, he thinks, as watches TK’s expression morph into one of worry and concern.

“Don’t you have a key?”

“What the hell happened?”

There is a beat of silence as they stare at each other. He watches as TK’s gaze travels downwards, taking in the crutches and his bandage-swaddled ankle. Then, TK reaches in to drop his duffel by the door and grabs Carlos’ arm, positioning himself next to him.

“What are you doing on your feet? You should be icing that, not wandering about,” he says admonishingly. Carlos snorts as he hobbles along, leaning his weight gratefully on his boyfriend.

“The door wasn’t going to magically open itself, TK,” he says. He sinks onto the couch with a weary sigh and accepts the ice pack that’s thrust in his direction.

TK grins sheepishly as he props up a stack of pillows on the coffee table. “I may or may not have left them here when we left for work this morning,” he says. He lifts up Carlos’ foot and places it gently on the pillow. He takes the ice pack from him and drapes it over his ankle.

Carlos rolls his eyes even as a wave of fondness washes over him.

“You’re lucky I got let off early today. I was going to put in some overtime to finish paperwork.”

TK plops down next to him on the couch and wraps his arms around him. He’s radiating a comforting heat and Carlos lets the feeling seep into his bones.

“Yeah, well, I would have been fine with sitting on the door step.” TK runs a hand through his curls and Carlos melts against him. “You okay? Wanna tell me what happened?”

Carlos smiles ruefully.

“I was chasing a suspect and got my foot caught in a bunch of cable. Doctor says I'm lucky I didn’t break it. I’m off duty for the next week at least. Light duty for another week after that.”

“Aw babe, that sucks,” TK says and tightens his arms around him. “I’ll see if I can get a couple of days off to keep you company? I have some vacation days saved up.”

“You don’t have to,” Carlos says although deep down, he’s glad for TK’s offer. Having to navigate his relatively uncluttered home on crutches was an exhausting prospect, and he’d go stir crazy if he had to spend the whole day laid up on the couch, unmoving.

“I know I don’t,” TK replies. “But I want to. You could barely make it to the door. How are you going to get food or use the bathroom?”

Carlos sighs as he buries his face in the crook of TK’s neck.

“Thanks, tiger,” he whispers, and TK presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“You sit here, I’m going to go take stock of what’s in the fridge.”

Carlos whines as TK disentangles himself and ruffles his hair.

“Stay,” he says, pointing to him as if speaking to Buttercup, a roguish grin on his face, as he walks away. Carlos rolls his eyes and pouts.

“It’s not like I can go anywhere,” he grumbles.

There is a knock on the door.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Carlos says, exasperated. He leans forward to grasp at his crutches only for them to slip out of his reach. They clatter to the floor in a cacophony of metal.

He hears the fridge door close and TK’s hurried footsteps.

“What are you doing?” he asks. He picks up the fallen crutches and leans it against the back of the couch. “I thought I told you to stay.”

Another knock, this time more insistent.

“Carlitos, open the door!” a voice calls from the other side of the door and Carlos’ blood turns to ice. There’s a buzzing sound that’s started up in his ears and his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. Then, a hand cups his cheek gently and he meets TK’s eyes.

“I’ll handle it,” he says. “Do you trust me?”

Carlos nods, unable to speak. His shitty day had just become a whole lot worse and all he wanted to do was curl up on the couch and disappear.

TK smiles and pets him on the head.

“Close your eyes and get some rest. I’ll entertain your parents for a bit.”

As if moving on its own accord, his head tips back and he closes his eyes. He hears the door open.

“Hi Mr and Mrs Reyes,” TK says cheerfully.

“TJ!” his mother exclaims and Carlos bites back a frustrated groan. She doesn’t mean it, but her inability to remember his friends’ names with any degree of accuracy had been a problem since he was a child.

“Is Carlos home?” he hears his father ask. “We heard he injured himself at work?”

“Yes sir, he’s resting on the couch. Come in.”

There’s a sound of shuffling footsteps and the door clicks shut.

“Can I get you anything? Some water? Iced tea?”

Carlos can almost hear the gears turning in his parents’ heads as he lays there feigning sleep. A part of him feels horrible for making TK deal with his parents, but the part of him that was tired and in pain was glad that he was around. 

“Some water would be nice, thank you.”

A small hand caresses his forehead and pushes his hair back, startling him. Cover blown, he blinks his eyes open, making a show of just waking up.

“Mamá,” he says as her face comes into view. Her brow is furrowed, eyes concerned. Behind her, his father hovers.

“What happened, Carlitos?” she asks as she sits next to him. “Your Tía Lucy called.”

He bites back a groan as he pulls himself upright, careful not to jostle his ankle. In the first pain-filled hours of his injury, it didn’t occur to him to downplay the injury that meant he wouldn’t be making it to his aunt’s on Sunday.

“I’m fine, Mom,” he says. “Just sprained my ankle at work.”

“This doesn’t look like just a sprain,” his father says skeptically. He comes to sit on his other side and Carlos suddenly feels boxed in by their concern.

There’s a clatter from the kitchen as TK wanders out, two glasses of water in hand. Carlos heaves a sigh of relief that he disguises with a shifting of his leg. TK places the glasses on the table and offers Carlos a small grin, eyes crinkling. Carlos smiles back, unable to stop himself.

“How long has this been going on?”

Carlos blanches as his gaze darts to his father. His face is set in a neutral expression that makes Carlos feel like he’s twelve again. He’s never brought a boyfriend home to meet his parents before, fearing an awkward meeting at best and a painful conversation at worst. His heart sinks as he realises which direction this is heading. He twists the hem of his shirt in his hands and stays quiet.

“We’ve been together for a few months,” TK says carefully. He sits on the futon next to the coffee table, eyes fixed on Carlos.

“Well, aren’t you going to introduce us properly?” his mother says. He blinks.

“What?” he stutters.

“You said you were friends from work the last time we met at the farmer’s market. Anyone with eyes can tell that you’re not just friends from work,” she says gently. She reaches out to still his fidgeting hands. “Carlos, we didn’t ask because we thought you weren’t ready.”

Frustration rears up inside him and he’s horrified to realise that his eyes are filling up with tears. Through the blur of his waterlogged lashes, he can see TK make an aborted movement forward, hands reaching out unconsciously in an attempt to soothe and something settles in his chest.

“You never talked about it,” he says, meeting his mother’s startled eyes. “I came out to you and you never said a word about it since that day. I didn’t think you wanted to know.”

His mother’s eyes well with tears as her grip on his hands tightens.

“Oh Carlos,” she says, reaching out to cup his cheek, expression devastated. “We never meant to make you feel like you had to hide. We just didn’t know what to do or how to talk about it.”

Carlos leans into his mother’s hand, blinking rapidly. Tears are sliding down his face and he’s powerless to stop them.

“I just wanted you to talk to me,” he whispers. “To tell me that it didn’t matter. That you still love me.”

A hand rests on his shoulder and he looks towards his father. His normally stoic father is watching him with a glassy sheen in his eyes.

“Mijo,” he says. “Of course we still love you. You are our son.”

Carlos curls in on himself, sobs wracking his frame. He wants to take his father’s words and wrap them up, use them to mend the chasm that had opened inside him the day he realised his parents were choosing to ignore a part so fundamental to him.

His mother wraps her arms around him and he collapses into her warmth.

“We’re so sorry that we made you feel this way,” she murmurs into his hair.

Carlos doesn’t know how long he sits there, cradled in his mother’s arms but gradually, his crying ceases leaving him worn out. His ankle is throbbing with a ferocious intensity, and the headache that’s building up behind his eyes is not far behind. He pulls away from his mother, suddenly embarrassed. He wipes his face with his shirt and shifts uneasily.

A glass appears before him. He looks up to see TK standing in front of him, a sad smile on his face. He reaches out gratefully and drinks.

“Are you in pain? You’re probably due for another round of painkillers soon.”

Carlos nods wordlessly as he returns the glass to him. TK’s fingers brush his comfortingly.

“Sit tight. I’ll go get them.”

He reaches out, grabbing at TK’s arm, eyes beseeching.

“Hey, hey, I’ll be right back. It won’t take me more than a minute,” TK says soothingly. Seemingly unconcerned about their audience, he plants a kiss on his forehead and gently extricates himself from his hold.

“Stay,” he says, a hint of a smile on his face and Carlos snorts. He watches as TK walks towards the kitchen.

“You really like him,” his father says and Carlos jumps.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “I do.”

“Good,” his mother says. “Then we like him too. He looks after you. That’s all we will ever ask for.”

“Thank you.” He meets his parent’s eyes, hoping to convey more than just his thanks for their affirmation. He knows they’ll have many more conversations about this, but he’s glad that they’ve finally started moving in a healing direction.

TK returns, a fresh glass of water and his prescriptions in hand. He rummages in the bag, pulling out the bottle of painkillers and passing it to Carlos. Carlos nods gratefully as he takes the bottle from his boyfriend. He takes a steadying breath.

“Mom, dad,” he says. “This is my boyfriend, TK.”

TK beams.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own the sandbox, just really enjoy playing in it. This was a cathartic writing experience. I hope everyone who needs one can have the chance to have a conversation with their parents like Carlos had with his. I wish I do.


End file.
